Gambit
by Rakawan
Summary: Drifter's Gambit has exploded in popularity amongst the Guardians of the Last Safe City. Warlocks, Hunters, even Titans, flock to the Derelict to compete in illicit and unsanctioned competition. For most it is harmless fun, a chance to test their boundaries. But the one who runs it has a long list of enemies, and not all are inclined to fight fair.
1. Fun and Games

Rain fell in sheets, spattering against armor and running in rivulets off capes and robes as four figures charged across the deck of the Pacific Arcology. None of them paid any heed to the storm pounding the floating platforms. Rain was a constant on Titan.

A voice echoed across the platforms, audible despite the howling wind.

"Hostiles at the rig." It called.

The group altered course, two of its members slowing to allow the heavily armored figures in front to reach the enemy lines first.

These figures slammed into the the enemy, one covered in void light, the other in arc. The Cabal Legionnaires before them disintegrated, as did the Psions who had rushed to their aid.

Motes erupted from their corpses, shaped like triangular pyramids, and were swiftly absorbed. They would be held until their bearers decided they had enough to deposit at the massive device in the center of the arena. Bank too early or too late and the other team would gain an advantage. Gambit after all, was a competition. The thrill of combat was not to be compared to the thrill of victory. Not that combat within the match was even close to boring.

A spray of bullets tore through a Psion's skull as the second Titan danced around the blades of a hulking Cabal Gladiator. He slammed a fresh magazine into the weapon and turned, sending a volley of rounds into the Gladiator's face.

Tyr was a Striker. A Titan wielding Arc energy and specializing in close quarters combat. Cabal rushed to meet him, the rest of his team forgotten. That cost them. A sniper rifle barked and a Centurion staggered and fell. Psions ran for cover, heads exploding as the Warlock's scout rifle sang. The other Titan used this opportunity to circle around behind them, sidearm spitting death.

The Cabal realized their peril too late. A pair of Phalanxes made a desperate last stand, only to fall, arc energy coursing through their limbs as Tyr threw two grenades onto their shields.

He grabbed the last mote and spun, sprinting towards the device at the center of the arena. As he drew closer it it slammed closed, a shadowy mechanical figure dropping from the storm of dark energy above it. A Taken Vex Goblin. Tyr met it head on, his shoulder smashing it's head into nothingness. He spun, as the bank opened, and summoned the motes to his hand, slamming them into the receptacle. A pulse of energy erupted from the bank, passing through the dark portal above, summing. A Taken Captain at the other teams bank. And buying the rest of his team time. More motes slammed into receptacle. On the other side three Taken Goblins appeared, joining the Captain Tyr had sent. That, however, was not the only effect. The portal near the bank, cobbled together from Vex tech, activated, filling with Taken energy.

The Hunter grabbed a pack of heavy ammo off the wall and leapt through, invading the other teams arena. A good invader could turn the tide of any match, and Drake was no slouch when it came to killing other Guardians. The rush of invading was addicting to some Guardians. They threw themselves into it, relishing in the dark power that coursed through their veins.

Tyr, however, did not care for it. He'd invade only as a necessity, and preferred to leave it to others. His rush came from tearing through the legions of enemies Drifter sent into the arena.

Unfortunately for the Cabal, he was very good at this. A Legionnaire fell, its face smashed to pieces by his shoulder, the Psions beside it turning to run, only to be bisected by a spray of bullets. The colossus next to it tried to intervene... and staggered as the remainder of the magazine was emptied into its skull. Dazed it tried to lift its cannon to return fire. Tyr drove his elbow into its eyes, blinding it, then spun and lashed out, his armored boot smashing its skull to pieces.

He slammed another magazine into his SMG, and spun, the weapon glowing with light. Legendary weapons were well named, for each was _more_ than just a gun. Something granted them traits, abilities that defied the laws of physics, and at times, even the laws of reality. Exit Strategy was one of these weapons, and, one that fit Tyr's discipline particularly well. Any kill made while holding it empowered the weapon, and it seemed to find melee combat the most agreeable. This combined with its limited range and high rate of fire made it perfect for eliminating any enemy that survived Tyr's initial charge.

Motes fell like rain wherever the Titan went, joining the corpses that littered the ground. He paused in his rampage only once: to nod at Drake who had rejoined them, sent back early after wiping out the entire opposing team. They would be on their feet again soon, Guardians did not stay down easily, but any motes they had carried were lost.

That made them desperate.

Tyr watched the bar on his HUD fill with gray. The Drifter, The Lightbearer who ran Gambit, kept track of how many motes each Guardian carried as well as how many had been banked, and fed that information to both teams. The bar was halfway filled with gray when Tyr sent a large blocker, opening the portal for Drake to invade again. By the time they cleared the next incursion point the enemy bar was back to almost zero.

"Almost time for a Primeval, bank those motes!"

Tyr spun, the Warlock falling in beside him.

"What's a Primeval?" She asked.

"Big angry Taken." Tyr replied. "We kill it, we win."

He slammed his motes into the bank. The Warlock did the same.

"One more question." She said. "What's a Taken?"

Rips opened in the air around them as the bank slammed closed. The other Titan rolled beyond a stack of crates, readying a shotgun.

Tyr grabbed the Warlock, pulling her off the platform and behind a stack of supply bags.

Holes appeared in reality, spelling shadowy figures onto the battlefield, Taken wizards shrieked in unison. Tyr could feel them, but their presence was nothing compared to what came next. A massive Vex constrict stepped out of a large rend in space, covered in shadow. A Primeval Minotaur, pulled from the depths of the Ascendant Plane.

Tyr gestured over his shoulder, loading rounds into his grenade launcher.

"Those are Taken." He said. "The big one's a Primeval."

The Warlock slid into cover behind him, wincing as the Wizards screamed. She was shaking.

Tyr rolled out of cover, opening fire on the Wizards. Drake leapt into the air, sending a single arrow from his Void Bow into the center of the platform, it blossomed into a ball of void energy, ensnaring the Taken around it with thin lines of void energy.

Tyr opened fire, his sniper rifle drowning out their screams. The Wizards and the Thrall with them fell under a barrage of shots, but that was nothing compared to what the Guardians unleashed upon the lone Primeval. The Warlock rejoined the fight, a dirty looking fusion rifle spinning to life in her hands. The other Titan raised a void shield, drawing the attention of the massive Taken and absorbing the brunt of its attacks.

Tyr and Drake kept their distance as well, bombarding the Primeval with grenades.

It withered under their attacks, but remained standing.

Tyr was on the middle of drawing his sniper rifle, his launcher spent, when the Warlock ran past him, yelling incoherently. She rose into the air, a ball of void light held in her hand, and hurled it down on the Primeval.

The Taken Minotaur screamed as void energy tore it apart, its existence collapsing in on itself, yielding to the immense gravitational force.

The Warlock landed where it had stood, then fell to her knees. Breathing heavily.

At first Tyr thought nothing of it. They won the next round easily, earning them the match. It was then, as Drifter began transmitting our the prizes, that Tyr noticed the Warlock's hands were still shaking.

Drake and the other Titan disappeared. The Warlock however, simply stood there staring at the spot where the Primeval had vanished, her hands still gripping her rifle.

"We should go." Tyr said. "Next match is starting soon."

Her head snapped up.

"What? No!" She said. "We have to get out of here!"

Tyr held out his hand, his ghost appearing over it.

"Transmat for three to the hangar." He said.

A shimmer of light heralded their arrival. A frame with a insignia of twin snakes paused in its sweeping to stare at them, then resumed its work.

Tyr put an arm around the trembling Warlock, guiding her towards a stack of crates.

"Sit." He said gently.

She did, her ghost appeared.

"Hey." He said. "It's okay. We won. And look what we got."

He transmitted a rough looking robe into her lap.

"Should be much better protection. That what you have." He said. "A few more matches and..."

"No." The Warlock said, clutching the robe to her chest like a child holding a blanket. "I... I could feel it. Trying to eat my light. It was so strong."

Tyr sat down across from He, pulling out a spare clip. His ghost, Charon, transmatted the rounds into his hand and he slid them into the clip.

The Warlock looked up.

"How to you do it?" She asked. "How do you fight those things over and over."

Tyr laughed.

"Well sometimes you don't get the chance." He said. "If the enemy team is too good..."

Charon appeared over his shoulder, bumping into his helmet with a clink. His ghost stared at him for a second, then vanished.

"Sorry." He said. "Look to be honest what you are feeling is natural. For most Guardians Primevals are one of the most powerful foes you'll ever face. But they aren't invincible."

He gestured at her.

"Hell, you've killed two in less than an hour." He said. "If they were smart they'd be scared of you."

She seemed to perk up slightly.

"Once you learn how to kill them, they go down like everything else." He said. "Trust."

He nodded to the robe.

"Why don't you try it on?" He said. "See how it feels."

She held it up then looked around.

"Uhh..."

"Your ship's behind you." Tyr said. "At least I think that's yours. Plainest set of wings I've ever laid eyes on."

She disappeared and reappeared a moment later.

"Don't make fun of my ship." She said. "I'm getting a new one soon."

"Drifter could hook you up with one." Tyr said. "If you complete a few more matches that is."

She looked down at herself and spun.

"You know." She said. "If all his gear is this fashionable I just might."

She dropped into a gunslingers stance, hand on her hip.

"Alright." She said. "Step away from those motes you lily livered coward."

Tyr laughed.

"Well look at you." He said. "Like a regular little Dredgen."

He realized his mistake the moment the words left his lips. The Warlock froze.

"That came out wrong..." Tyr started.

"I... I gotta go." She said suddenly. "I'll see... uh... never mind."

She vanished in a flash. Her ship spun, launching out of the hanger before Tyr could react.

Charon appeared, single eye gazing after the ship.

"She was nice." He said.

Tyr turned, stalking towards the hangar entrance.

"Why do you always scare away the nice ones." Charon asked, floating after him.

"Shut it."

"Make me." Charon retorted, slamming into the Titan's helmet, forcing him to stop.

He let loose a sudden cry as the Titan's massive fist closed around him, snatching him out of the air.

Tyr stared at him, his expression unreadable behind the mask.

Then he reached out, running a finger along one of Charon's prisms.

"You know I'd never do that, Little Light." He said softly.

Charon relaxed, settling into the Titan's palm. It felt strangely comfortable.

"We need to get you a new shell." Tyr said. "This one is all scratched up."

"I like it." Charon said. "Makes me look tough."

"You are tough." Tyr said. "Toughest Ghost I know."

He titled his head forward and his Ghost leapt up, bumping against it.

"Let's go see what else our old friend has for us." Tyr said. "Then we'll swing by the farm, see if Ms. Karn has new books for you."

That made Charon happy.


	2. Tricks of the Trade

The Drifter was in his usual spot. The rogue Lightbearer was draped over a chair, staring at a collection of screens. He was munching on something, his eyes glued to the screen.

"You want some, brother?" He asked, holding out a piece of what Tyr sincerely hoped was overcooked venison.

"I'll pass." He said, ignoring the growl in his stomach.

Drifter shrugged.

"Alright." He said. "More for me."

He gestured to the screen.

"Can you believe these idiots. Like they've never fogught another Guardian before. Hah!" He said as a Hunter with a Veist-made Linear Fusion Rifle picked off a Warlock. The Warlock had been trading shots with him mid-air, a poor decision when carrying fifteen Motes of Dark.

"They probably haven't." Tyr said. "So many new lights are pouring in that even Shaxx can't keep up. Heard he's got Arcite making coffee runs every morning."

He sank into a chair.

"Next time you're in the Tower, tell him Ol' Drifter would be more than willing to take a few off his hands." Drifter said. "Shame to see all that talent go to waste."

"I think that's what he's worried about." Tyr started. "He..."

Drifter gave a sudden laugh and leapt up, seizing the mic from the table.

"Hahaha! I'm sorry. We're they saying something? Cause they're dead now!" He bellowed.

Tyr opened his mouth to reply and a muffled boom rumbled through the ship. The lights flickered.

Drifter turned, staring at the floor. The smile fell from his face.

"The hell...?" He murmured.

He rose to his feet.

"I told y'all to keep it down when I'm..."

The door slid open. An Exo stood there, transmat static fading to sparks around him, hands clasped over something. Drake. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

"You okay brother?" Drifter asked, reaching for the revolver tucked into his belt.

Drakes only response was a burst of static as the Exo toppled forward, landing face first in the ground.

Tyr rushed to his side. For a second he was back. Back on a grimy metal floor watching a friend fade away as the sounds of a prison break echoed around him. He shook his head. No. Drake was not Cayde, he still had his ghost.

Said Ghost appeared, eye fixed on the half a dozen black spines protruding from his Guardian's back.

"Remove these so I can heal him." It said sharply. Samuel was not known for his patience, especially where his Guardian was concerned.

Charon floated over.

"He's still alive?" He asked, sending a beam of light playing over the Exo. "He's still alive! ...How?"

There was another, muffled, burst of static.

"Quiet you." Samuel said. "I can't do anything till they are out, so save your strength for not dying."

He hovered over the Exo as Tyr pulled the wicked looking spines out of his back. Only the occasional spin of his shell revealed the agitation Tyr knew he was feeling.

The last spine came free with a spurt of black oil. Samuel shoves Tyr our of the way, playing a healing beam across the injuries. There was another burst of static, then...

"Bo... bo..." Drake stuttered, his voice module slowly repairing itself. "Bomb! G-g-get to the bar!"

He waved away Tyr's offered hand.

"Now!" He snapped.

The bar in question occupied the lower decks of the Derelict, and came complete with its own transmat beacon.

Tyr appeared just inside the door, a pair of holographic twinned snakes fading from view as he did so.

The floor crunched as his feet hit the remnants of a table.

He stared.

"Traveler's Light." Charon whispered.

Bodies lay all over the room, riddled with black spines.

All around the room the ghosts that remained were slowly pulling spines from their dead charges. Two lay dead in the ground, and a third was skittering about, convulsing, a spine lodged in one of its prisms, the edge biting deep into its core. Tyr lifted it up slowly.

"There's nothing we can do for him." Charon said. "I... I'm sorry brother."

Tyr whispered a quick prayer and grabbed the spine, tearing it out. The ghost shuddered, screamed, and then fell silent, the light in its eye fading.

Tyr placed it next to the others and made his way around the room, removing spines from the corpses of guardians, the ghosts themselves assisting as they could. Every time they touched one of the spines with a transmat beam he saw them shudder and cry out.

One by one the corpses began to stir, rising groggily to their feet, stumbling towards their fallen brethren and drunkenly tearing out the remaining spikes. All except three. A hunter, and two warlocks lay in the center of the room, as dead as their Ghosts.

"Something's wrong." Charon said. "This is way too easy."

He spun his shell.

"I can still feel the Traveler." He said. "That... that can't be right. This area should be saturated in Darkness."

Tyr pulled the last spine free and raised it to eye level.

He blinked in surprise. It was a Devourer Bullet. A round crafted for the infamous hand cannon Thorn, a weapon he knew well. Like the weapon itself each round was made from Hive bones and designed to suppress and consume the Light.

At least that was the intention. But this one was flawed. There was damage that would not have been incurred during the attack, nicks in the bones and chips of material missing. He turned it over. The Hive runes engraved on it were nothing but scribbles. He could feel the blighted Light within it. He bounced the massive spike in his palm, and watched as flakes of material began to peel free.

"The hell...?" He murmured. "Charon, get over here."

His Ghost darted over, staring at the round.

"A Devourer Bullet?" He mused. "That would explain... wait..."

He drifted closer.

"Are those flakes?" He asked. "Let me try..."

Before Charon could stop him a small healing beam washed over the hand holding the bullet. The cracks glowed a bright sickly green for a second, then the entire spine exploded. Charon recoiled as a fragment bounced off one of his prisms.

"That's not right." He said. "Aren't they supposed to devour Light?"

Tyr grabbed another one.

"That is the idea." He said. "But something is wrong with these. The carving is sloppy, amateur, and the runes are nothing more than scribbles."

He shook his head.

"Whoever made these knew less about them than I... did." He said, his voice trailing off.

Charon bumped into his helmet, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Hey." He said. "Whoever did this is still walking Sorrows Road. You aren't."

Flashes of light heralded the arrival of the Drifter and Drake, and the departure of every living Guardian except the Titan.

"Looks like you're the only witness." Tyr said.

Drake smiled.

"Not exactly." He said. He grabbed the table next to Tyr, setting it back on its legs and slamming something into it. A small, black box.

"As you can probably guess this is the bar's black box." He said. "We found something you should see."

His ghost appeared, bathing the room in light. Shadows appeared, Guardians and Ghosts, echoes of the room's occupants.

Tyr watched Drake shoulder his way into the bar, two more hunters close on his heels.

"I won somewhat fair and mostly square." One was saying. "So pay up."

The other groaned and held out their hand, an engram appearing in it. But not just any engram. This one had markers Tyr had only seen once before.

"Who wagers an Exotic Engram on a Gambit match?" He asked.

Drake shrugged.

The other Drake continued forward.

The first hunter grabbed the engram.

"And now to see the spoils." He said.

The engram flashed, a bright violent red.

The hunter blinked. Time slowed.

The engram exploded, black spines phasing into existence around the expanding ball of fire, propelled by the force of the blast.

Drake grunted as six of them buried themselves in his back. The recording froze.

"I've never seen anything like that." Drake said. "If some one invented a rigged engram..."

Tyr stared at the fireball.

"Not invented." He said softly. "Stole."

Drake turned on him.

"From you?"

Tyr shook his head.

"I am many things my friend, but not that sadistic." He said. "This was made by one of the Scorn Barons, Arakses."

"The Trickster." Drifter said. "I hated her, but she made me laugh, or used too."

His eyes fell on the dead ghosts, then the three covered corpses, and shook his head.

"First the Praxics breathing down my neck, again, and now this." He said under his breath. "I break a mirror or something?"

Drake ignored him.

"Thought you killed the Trickster." He said.

"I did." Tyr insisted. "Trust me, she's dead. Spent a an hour scraping her skull fragments off my shoulder. Dead isn't gone, though."

He glanced down at the spike clenched in his hand.

"Took the Barons months to scrape together the resources to acquire one Devourer Bullet." He said. "However..."

If Fikrul had resurrected Hiraaks, that would give the Scorn a source of Hive bones. The quality of the carving matched what one could expect from the rank and file scorn. Tyr shook his head. The only problem was the attack itself.

"This is not Arakses' style." Tyr said. "It's too... well, thought out... planned too far ahead. The last set of engrams primed themselves on touch. This was far more deliberate. I doubt her resurrection has made her, or any of them, more intelligent."

Constant resurrection by the Dark Ether coursing through their veins eventually turned Scorn into mindless Screeb, misshapen creatures whose only purpose was to charge at their targets and explode.

He looked up.

"Either way the Shore is our best bet for answers." He said. "We need to stop this. If they perfect their methods of producing Devourer Bullets and one of these makes its way into the city..."

He stopped. Drake was staring at the corpses on the floor, one Hunter, two Warlocks; and back at the hologram.

One hunter.

The one who had triggered he engram, not the one who had wagered it.

Drake met his gaze.

"Go to the shore." He said. "I'll track down our financially irresponsible friend."

His ghost was out in a flash, and then he was gone.

"Yeah." Drifter said. "Sure, leave me to clean up this mess."

Tyr turned.

"Look, I can help..." He started.

Drifter laughed.

"I'm pulling your chain kid." He said, waving him off. "You go on. I got this."

"You sure?" Tyr asked.

Drifter's smile was all teeth.

"Less you know, the better you'll sleep." Drifter said, the words all the more chilling for his friendly tone. "Trust."


	3. The Dredgen and the Praxic

"I spent a long time looking for you. I didn't know what you looked like, not on the outside. One the inside though, I always knew who you were."

Hermès spun his shell, the painted flower patterns blurring.

"I use to encourage myself by imagining all the amazing places we'd go when I found you." He continued. "This..."

He glanced out at the hazardous mass of floating rocks and cable webs.

"This was not one of them."

Lily did not respond, still bent over the fuselage of her ship.

"Are you sure this will work?" Hermes asked, turning his single eye towards her. "The last stealth drive Cayde gave to someone malfunctioned at the worst possible time."

"But he didn't give this to me." She said. "I stole it."

"Yes." Hermès said. "From a dead man who was the Hunter Vanguard. An act which most people would find shameful."

"Bah!" She said. "You sound like Aunor."

She stood up and put her hands on her hips.

"That does not concern you, Young Warlock. Ikora's library is off limits, Young Warlock. We have rules for a reason, Young Warlock." She said in as gruff a voice as she could manage. "Bah. I'll show her Just wait till we get back with news about an impending attack by actual Shadows."

She knelt back down, working on something outside his line of sight.

"Should have raised you as a Hunter." Hermès muttered. "At least then you'd have an excuse for breaking the rules."

Lily stood back up.

"You say something little buddy?" She asked.

"How can you be sure he's a Shadow?" He asked. "Not everyone who plays Gambit..."

Lily stared at him. Or through him. He couldn't tell with her helmet on.

You saw that...thing... right?" She asked. "I could feel it, eating my light. And the whole point is to summon one? Who else would get a kick out of that but Shadows."

Hermès could think of great number of Warlocks who would gladly summon a Taken in order to study it. He didn't mention that.

"And he called me a Dredgen." She said. "Like it was a compliment. Ugh!"

There was a soft hum and everything vanished.

Well not everything. The Shore was still there, as was the vast emptiness of space. But the ship, and his Guardian were gone. As were the prisms attached to his core. He felt oddly exposed.

"Ha!" Lily's voice said. "It works."

Hermès swelled with pride. That was his Guardian. So clever...

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The sound echoed from all around them. Slow, mocking applause.

With a whine the cloak failed, thrusting Hermès, his Guardian, and their ship into view again.

The applause stopped.

"Well, that is a shame." A familiar voice said.

Lily spun, fusion rifle in hand.

"Where are you?" She asked.

Hermès retreated into her, scanning the area. Something caught her eye and he felt her spin.

A ship phased into view next to theirs, tilted almost on its side. The Titan from the Derelict was leaning against the right wing, his feet propped against the cockpit glass.

"First rule of Drifting." He said. "If you didn't build or assemble it yourself, don't trust it."

Lily scowled.

"Says the man dressed in gifts from a con-artist." She said.

The Titan laughed.

"You think I don't know who I run with, sister?" He asked. "First thing I did when I got back to my ship was take each and every piece apart and check it for surprises. Still do. Sometimes he leaves notes."

He flicked his wrist, tossing a green coin up into the air. His other hand caught it, then sprang open, revealing an empty palm.

"You should do the same." He said. "Go on. Check your right pocket."

Hermès felt the dread build as his Guardian reached into the pouch at her side and withdrew a small green coin.

"How?" Lily breathed. Her mind was racing. Hermès checked his scanners. No transmat beam, and the Titan was too far away to have slipped it in there himself.

The Titan laughed, twisting his hand to show the coin lodged between his fingers.

"Check your other pocket." He said.

Lily did, pulling out a small device with a blinking light.

"Tracking beacon." The Titan said. "Yeah, I knew you were tailing me."

The coin spun into the air, higher than before. Hermès felt his Guardian's eyes track it as it reached its peak and fell back down, past the gleaming barrel of an SMG. The click of the safety was deafening in the silence.

"Now why don't you tell what you are really after."

Hermès felt Lily's mind race. He weighed the odds. Her fusion rifle was an old model. Long charge time and strong recoil. If she missed her first shot she wouldn't get another. Given the range between them she might not even get the chance to fire.

He wracked his mind for answers. They could transmat into the ship, but the Titan's ship had guns, and a working cloaking device. He forced himself to focus. There had to be another way.

In the end he was proud of his Guardian's decision even if he wished for an alternative.

Her hands never left the fusion rifle, and she straightened her back, standing tall and defiant.

"Do whatever you want to us." She said. "We won't tell you anything."

She closed her eyes and Hermès did the same.

A single shot broke the silence.

—

Tyr tapped his comms.

"That better have been you, Vatra." He said.

It was Vatra's ghost who replied. The Hunter only understood basic English, and generally stuck to what he called Romanian. Some old dead language from before the collapse.

"Vandal was sighting in on your position." The ghost said. "We're moving to clear them out now."

"Good." Tyr said as he stepped off his ship and onto the Warlock's. "Keep them busy. I'm trying to have a conversation here. Oh, and feel free to cause as much collateral as necessary. Just leave us out of it."

"He'll be happy to hear that." Vatra's ghost said. "By the way if you're done scaring the poor girl we could use an extra hand. Be a good chance for her to get some real world experience as well."

"I'll keep that in mind." Tyr replied.

He stepped up to the Warlock and tapped her helmet.

"Bravery is a good color on you sister." He said. "But I ain't the type to kill an unarmed Guardian."

Her body jerked as she stepped back raising the fusion rifle.

"What do you mean unarmed." She said.

He gestured to the empty space where the magazine should be.

"Doesn't count if you don't load it." He said.

Her whole body posture shifted from angry to embarrassed.

"An actual Shadow of Yor would have shot you dead before you could draw." He said. "Then they would have taken your ghost... for _entertainment_..."

He stopped over the cockpit.

"I'm still not telling you anything." She said.

Tyr opened his hand, letting Charon materialize inside the cockpit.

"You don't have to." He said. "Your ships logs will tell me everything I need to know."

He turned back to the Warlock, ignoring the rusty revolver trained on him.

"Dredgen is a title." He said. "A way of poking fun at those who follow Yor. And if it helps bring them out of hiding, well, that's just the icing on top of the cake."

He could feel Charon rooting through the ship's records. The Warlock's ghost made no move to stop him. A moment later the data streamed across the neural link between him and his Ghost.

"Well well well." Tyr said. "You got pluck, girl. I can respect that."

He holstered his SMG.

"Tell you what, why don't you tag along with us." He said. "Could use an extra set of hands."

The Warlock turned, her ghost appearing over her shoulder. The two of them began speaking, low enough that he could not hear.

Finally she tuned back.

"First I want to know what the goal is." She said. "I ain't... I'm not joining a mission without some idea of what we're trying to do."

"We're hunting a Scorn Baron known as the Trickster." Tyr said. "Some of her tech was used in an attack that almost killed a friend of mine."

He left out the part about the bomb, and the bar. Less she knew about that, the easier it would be for Drifter to do his "cleaning."

"Scorn Barons are dead." Her ghost said. He was a dainty looking thing with a shell adorned in painted flowers.

"That what the Vanguard told you?" Tyr asked.

"That's a fact."

"Corrupted Ether can raise dead Fallen as Scorn." Tyr said. "What do you think it does to dead Scorn?"

The Warlock and her Ghost both paused at that.

"Every once in a while the Fanatic pops back up." Tyr said. "So a few of us get together, and go kick his teeth in. Vanguard keeps it under wraps. People got enough to worry about."

The Warlock was silent.

"If he's back, he may not be alone." Tyr continued. "So, you in?"

The Warlock paused.

"Why help me?" She asked, cautiously.

"You misunderstand, sister." Tyr said with a laugh. "This is you helping me."

He watched her mull it over.

"I'll do it." She said. "On one condition."

She took off her helmet.

Red hair cascaded down her back, green eyes staring at him with an amused twinkle. Her features were what some would call attractive.

"I can't just keep calling you Titan." She said. "If I'm going to file a report I'll need your real name."

Tyr took off his helmet, smiling.

"You first." He said.

Charon snapped a picture, running a scan through through several databases. Lily and Hermès.

"Sarah." Lily said. "And this is Florence."

"Florence" appeared over her shoulder and gave a little twirl.

"Caesar." Tyr said. "And this is Anubis."

Charon phased into existence.

"Someone just pinged us in the database." He said.

Tyr smiled. A quick look at "Sarah's" eyes confirmed his suspicions. She knew he was lying. She knew he knew she was lying.

"You're a quick learner, Sarah." He said. "I think we're going to get along just fine."

He slid his helmet back on. Lily did the same.

"So where to?" She asked.

"Tangled Shore is like a web." Tyr said. "I think it's about time you met the Spider."


	4. A Pilgrim's Shadow

"You cannot possibly trust him." Hermès said.

"Why not?" Lily asked.

Hermès darted in front of her, forcing her to pay attention to him.

"Because I know you." He said. "You don't change your mind that easily."

"No." Lily said. "I don't. But whatever he is involved with is bigger than I thought. And it will be far easier to investigate if I play along."

Hermès spun his shell.

"Oh." He said. "That makes sense."

She was acting confident. He hated it when she did that. Made her rush into things without thinking. Made her ignore good advice.

"You need to stick up for yourself." He thought. "She's your guardian. It's your job to talk her out of things."

Their ship slid around an asteroid. They were trailing Tyr's ship, his companion's vessel following them. The Titan's ship was a retrofitted solar glider, designed for long distance flights between planets. His companion's ship was something else entirely. Slow, lumbering, and loud enough to be heard in the low atmosphere of the Shore, it looked almost too heavy to fly.

Guardians did not typically mount guns on their dropships, but both Tyr and his companion's ships where armed. Tyr's glider had twin mounted machine guns under a curved housing in the wing, and his friend's vessel had what appeared to be missile tubes slung under the wings.

That made him worried.

—

"There's no way she believes you." Charon said.

"Of course not." Tyr chuckled. "But she's helping isn't she?"

Charon grumbled and Tyr nudged him.

"Pay up." He said.

Charon spin his shell and Tyr watched the glimmer tracker on his HUD jump up by a thousand.

"Pleasure doing business with you." He said.

Charon darted over to a pile of books, still grumbling.

"So." Tyr said. "What do you think?"

"I don't have enough data." Charon replied. "Why not ask the Warlock? Maybe she's studied Hive biology."

As it turned out, she had.

"Of course what's really interested is the gender change that accompanies each morph." She continued. "For example did you know that Oryx used to be female until he, or maybe she... definitely she, took the King morph."

"Ahem." Tyr said.

"Not to mention the fact that Hive Wizards are actually female." Lily said. "Despite the pre-Golden age representation of human wizards as male. Of course this may be different in Hive literature. A pity we don't have any examples of such. Apart from the Tablets of Ruin, but those are..."

Tyr groaned loudly.

"Exactly." Lily said. "Now to your original question. Yes, there is a difference between the porosity of Hive _chitin_. It's actually interesting that a lot of people call it bone, because it's not actually bone. Probably ties into the common misconception of Hive as zombies. Technically the Hive are still alive, though Thralls are little more than mindless scavengers driven by their worms. Well not actually driven, it's not like there are tiny buttons inside their.."

"If I fly fast enough," Charon said, staring at one of the Devourer Bullets. "Do you think I could impale myself on this?"

Tyr glared at him.

"Oh no you don't." He said. "This was your idea, you have to suffer through it just like I do."

He glanced down at his lap.

"On the other hand..." He said.

"And that is what makes it so interesting..." Lily was saying. "You'd think they'd have figured out the..."

A deafening explosion rang out. Tyr slumped backwards in his chair, the Trust handcannon smoking.

"What was that?" Lily cried.

"He just shot himself." Charon said. "One moment."

"How?" Lily asked. "Why did he even have a gun out?"

"Because you would. Not. Stop. Talking." Tyr said as his Ghost revived him. "Traveler's Light, woman, I know what the Hive are. I have read the books of Sorrow, I have read the Books of Unmaking, I have participated in and disrupted Hive Rituals, I have crafted a Thorn and the requisite ammo, and I am friends with the Guardian who killed Crota and his father Oryx!"

There was no response.

"All I need from you is to know if there is a difference in porosity in Hive bones, and which type _this_ is made from!"

He held up the Devourer Bullet despite the fact that she could not see it.

There was a long silence.

"You've read the Books of Sorrrow?" Lily asked, excitement obvious in her voice. "What did they... wait."

Her voice lost all its mirth.

"What do you mean you've crafted a Thorn?" She asked slowly.

Her ship began to drift to the side.

Tyr moves his to match it, cutting off her path.

"Exactly what I said." He replied.

"You said the title of Dredgen was to draw out the Shadows." She said. "So why do you have a Thorn?"

"I don't have a Thorn." Tyr said. "I had a Thorn. Past tense."

"Traveler help me." He thought. "I'm arguing tense with a Warlock."

The line was silent.

"I threw it off a cliff." He said. "If you'd like we can take a three hour detour to earth and spend five days looking for the exact location so I can prove it. But that would be five days the Scorn are perfecting their assembly of their own Weapons of Sorrow."

There was a longer silence.

"I'll help." Lily said. "But you have to answer one question, and answer it truthfully. If you don't answer I will leave, if you lie, I will send your words to Aunor Malor."

Tyr glanced at Charon.

"What if I decide to have my buddy shoot you out of the sky?" He asked.

"Message is already readied." Lily said. "I can send faster than he can shoot. And if you kill me, then the Praxic Order will never stop hunting you."

Tyr leaned back.

"Alright." He said. "Ask your question."

The one she asked was not the one he expected.

"How does a member of the Pilgrim Guard come to craft a Weapon of Sorrow?"

—

She almost did not expect him to answer. The radio was silent for the longest time, then...

"Thirteen." He said. "It was group number Thirteen. Eventually you stop thinking about names and give numbers. Easier to say goodbye, easier when... when they don't make it. Twelve went well, no casualties, Thirteen... Thirteen never even saw the walls."

He took a breath.

"Warlords are still around, just not as settled. Ran into one. Thought he was a friend, till the killing started." The Titan continued. "I tried to intervene. Got his attention, while they scattered. Eventually he decided killing me wasn't as amusing as hunting them. I'm no tracker, but he left a trail. To this day I still go back and retrace it, find new remains, bury the ones I missed."

Hermès was staring at the radio.

"I don't remember where I first heard about it." He said. "Maybe it was a rumor, maybe I overhead someone else who had walked that road. Either way I heard about a weapon that could kill Guardians. Permanently. Something that could make sure that the next Warlord who attacked my charges never got the chance to hurt anyone, ever again."

Lily was staring too.

"Fell in with group who had the same goals, at least as far as building the weapon. Never knew what their intentions were beyond that. Found ourselves a man who could teach us, show us the path. Never knew he was using us."

"Had someone on his tail and needed a distraction. Figured a group of new initiates would draw more heat." He said. "So he gave us the bones, told us to pick names, and said we needed to cause a bit of suffering to finish the weapons. That is when I stopped and thought, really thought, about the path I was on and where it led. Told the others I'd bring them all the sacrifices they could ever want. Set up a meeting point at a glade. Always tried to fight fair, until that day. I've come to accept the necessity of what I did, but at the time it never sat well. He found me then, staring at my gun, surrounded by dead Guardians, the weapon in his hand burning like the sun. I asked him to kill me."

There was a dry laugh.

"He said no." The Titan recounted. "I said I deserved to die, he agreed, but refused to pull the trigger. Left me there. My ghost said something then, something that's stuck with me."

Charon's voice came over the comms, calm and measured.

"Dying's easy." The Ghost said. "Living's harder."

"I threw the gun off a cliff two days later. Realized I couldn't use something so dark for something so good. Wouldn't work." Tyr said. "Found the Warlord a week later, while I was leading another group. I'd ditched the gun but I'd kept two bullets. Modified them for my long rifle. One for him, and one for his Ghost. Wasn't a fair fight, wasn't even a fight really. I walked away, he didn't. Number fourteen made it to the wall without any casualties."

Lily stared at the radio wordlessly.

"That answer your question?" The Titan asked softly.

Hermès nudged her. Lily blinked, trying to find the words.

"Why run with the Drifter then?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"He makes good guns." Tyr said. "Malfeasance ain't Thorn. It doesn't eat light, doesn't whisper, doesn't hunger. And it hits harder against those who let the Darkness in. Everything I wanted, without the cost."

He paused.

"Maybe that's what he's trying to prove. That there's another way. A way to use the Dark without losing yourself in it. If he's right, then maybe the Shadows can be redeemed. And if he's wrong... well someone has to be there to put an end to it."

Lily sat in shock. She had expected.. well she had no clue what she had expected. Certainly not this.

"That's a lot of maybes." She said.

"I've learned to live for the maybes." Tyr replied. "'Maybe this Warlock isn't like other Praxics.' For instance. You and I both know what Aunor would do."

Lily did. Aunor would take him into custody on the spot, or shoot him out of the sky. However, Aunor had the skills and ruthlessness to do so. She was not Aunor. Not where it mattered.

"I'd need to see a sample of the bone." She said. "Along with micro-scans and stress ratings."

Hermès turned to face her.

"Trust me on this, little buddy." She said.

It rolled through and she began analyzing it. The answer came quickly.

"Thrall bone." She said. "High porosity, low density. Medium tensile strength. In layman's terms..."

"Flexible, and light but not very strong." Tyr said. "Makes sense, Thrall need to move quickly but aren't expected to be durable."

He paused.

"Poor choice for a bullet though." He said. "Knights hard and heavy, good for beginners. Some like to use Wizard bones, claim they make the bullets hungrier but those are a pain to carve."

"So whoever tried to kill your friend used one of these?" Lily asked.

"Actually they used about six." Tyr said. "They used a bomb disguised inside an engram."

Lily's mind raced. If one of those got inside the city.

"So." The Titan said. "Are you still willing to help?"

Lily stared at Hermes for a second. Then both nodded.

"Yes." She said. "I am."


	5. A Tangled Web

Lily stared. She couldn't help it.

Spider was a Fallen. A very big and very _well rounded _Fallen. Given his spindly arms, multiple eyes, and _sizable_ abdomen, she could see how he got the name. Tangled in the netting above him, like flies in a web, were the remains of dead ghosts. She could feel Hermes seething.

"If it isn't Tyr Hallan." Spider said. "The worst bounty hunter in the system."

His voice sounded like he had something stuck in his throat.

"Heard you might be having a pest problem." Tyr said.

"Gah!" Spider snapped. "Wouldn't be a problem if you'd kept your end of the bargain."

"Deal was I'd kill them." Tyr replied calmly. "Said nothing about keeping them down. That's extra."

Spider opened his mouth to reply and then turned.

"And what do you think you're doing, Little Light?" He inquired.

Lily followed his gaze.

Hermès stared back, hovering near one of the nets, the metal links near him glowing red hot.

He froze as Spider lunged for him.

The massive Fallen's arm stopped just short of its target.

Charon floated between the Fallen crime lord and his target. His prisms were extended, his small core wreathed in Light. The whir of a transmat system powering up filled the room.

Tyr was watching them, hand on the Malfeasance hand cannon by his side.

For a second to the two hung there, Fallen and Ghost, lock in an invisible battle of wills. Then Tyr cleared his throat. Spider settled back into his seat, the device creaking beneath his weight.

Hermès darted away, circling around Lily before settling into the crook between her neck and shoulder. She closed her hands around him, stroking the prisms of his shell lovingly.

Charon took one last look at Spider and then floated back over to Tyr, settling onto the massive pauldron the Titan wore.

Spider sat back in his chair.

"A word of wisdom, Little Lady." He said, staring at Lily. "When asking for someone's help, it's... impolite to try to rob them."

He folded his hands.

"Might give them the wrong impressions." He said. "And out here, misunderstandings can get... messy."

He leaned forward.

"Are we clear?"

Lily stared back, one hand holding Hermes, the other resting on the handle of her, technically Tyr's, hand cannon, Trust.

She nodded.

"It won't happen again." She said firmly, more to her Ghost than to Spider.

"See that it doesn't." The Fallen spat.

He turned back to the Titan.

"Now." He said. "Where were we?"

"You were just about to tell me if you had seen Araskes or Hiraaks skulking about." The Titan said smoothly, as if nothing had happened.

"Fortunately no." Spider said. "But... I did send a crew to patrol the Trickster's lair. Purely a precaution, of course."

He glanced at a device on the wall displaying Fallen symbols.

"They were due back an hour ago." He said. "You wouldn't mind checking in on them, would you?"

Tyr chuckled.

"After the trouble we've caused its the least we can do." He said. "Anything else I should know?"

Spider laughed.

"Ah. Heh. Nothing comes to mind." He said. "But keep an eye on the lady. Shore can be a dangerous place, for the unprepared."

Lily bit back a retort. The Titan simply nodded.

He waited till they were in the second to last room of the safehouse before speaking.

"Go home." He said.

Lily stared. Her mind spun.

"What? I can help." She insisted. "You need..."

"I need someone to warn the city." He said. "This may take longer than I expected and that means the city is at risk."

Hermès was staring at Charon, his shell spinning.

"But..." Lily complained.

"I'm needed here." Tyr said. "And Vatra is only fluent in a language that has been dead for centuries, if not more. You are the only one who can do this."

"He's right." Hermes said. "You've had your adventure, now it's one to save lives."

His voice echoed across a private channel.

"Charon told me Spider put a bounty on me." He whispered. "It's... a lot. Enough to attract every mercenary from here to the EDZ."

Lily felt her blood run cold.

"And like it or not he has a point." Hermes said. "The City needs to know. We can do that. Aunor will listen to us."

Lily was silent for a moment.

"Alright." She said. "I'll do it."

The Titan seemed to relax.

"Good." He said. "Vatra and I will escort you to the edge of the Shore. From there you should be able to jump to the last City directly."

He held out a hand.

"Godspeed Warlock." He said.

Lily shook his hand, wincing at his crushing grasp, then turned to the Hunter.

"It was nice to meet you, Vatra." She said. "Stay safe, both of you."

Vatra nodded.

"Stai în siguranță micule idioate." He said.

The last thing she saw, before the transmat took hold, was Tyr clotheslining a dreg who had charged towards her, a shock knife in its hand.

Maybe going home was a good idea.

She was wrong.

Lily shook her head, trying to dispel the cobwebs that seemed to fill it.

"Well this is a fine mess." She said.

Hermès did not reply.

"Stupid Stupid Lily." She snarled. "Should have gone to the vanguard. What would the Titan say, if he could see you now."

A low chuckle echoed throughout the Praxic Cell. She was not alone.

She turned and stared, the Drifter stared back.

"Hey sister." He said. "How ya living?"

A little voice in her head told her to get away, to back up until her shoulders hit the farthest wall. Another voice stopped it.

"He doesn't look so tough." It said. "This is the man Aunor is afraid of?"

The Drifter flashed her a smile, his voice warm.

"Don't bother calling for you ghost." He said. "They probably got him locked up tight."

Anger coursed through her. If they laid one hand on him...

Light blazed in her first for only a second, familiar warmth radiating down her fingers, then the collar around her neck activated, sending her to the ground with a burst of electricity.

"Painful ain't it." Drifter said. "If it wasn't for this little contraption I'd already be gone. Guess it's your lucky day like that."

He spread his hands.

"But enough about me." He said. "Why are you here?"

"Aiding and abetting..."

"Nah." He said shaking his head. "I mean why are you here, instead of sitting at your desk like a good little scribe."

Lily froze.

Why was she here? For the first time the eight of what she had done sunk in. She had followed a self-proclaimed Dredgen to the most lawless place in the system for what..? Adventure? Recognition?

"Curiosity." She said.

Drifter cocked his head.

"That's it?" He asked.

"Yeah." Lily said. It felt right. She grinned, fully aware of how silly it looked. "I was curious."

"About?"

"About everything." She said. "What are motes? Why do you want them? What can they do, I mean really do?"

She was shaking.

"That primeval was terrifying." She said. "But the more I think about it, the more I want to know. What is it? Where did it come from?"

She paused.

"I am sitting here in a Praxic cell, stuck with a con-man." She said, tasting the words as she spoke them. "In the space of two hours I have basically ruined any career prospects I may have had and probably secured, at the very least, exile, and my only regret is that I still don't have any answers."

It was true, she knew that as soon as she said it. She hadn't followed Tyr because she was wanted Aunor's approval. That had been a lie. She had followed him because deep down she wanted to know...

She stared at Drifter, her fists clenched, her breath coming in bursts.

He was smiling.

"And there it is." He said. "You found your reason."

He leaned forward.

"You got questions, I got answers." He said. "You run with me, I'll pass along what I know. Deal?"

He stuck out his hand. Lily took it. It was covered in grime and grease. She repressed a shudder.

"Now." Drifter said, reaching behind him. "You might want to stand back."

There was a sound behind her, like a muffled explosion, and the Drifter paused, hand frozen behind his back, a look of confusion on his face.

She turned. A Hunter stood before them, clad in black and grey leather armor, his chest and shoulders adorned with triangular gold plates, each one studded with amethyst. Air hissed from the filters on each side of his helmet. Two vials spun through the air. Lily grabbed hers, fumbling with it. Drifter casually snatched his out of the air and uncorked it, taking a whiff.

"Queensfoil?" He muttered. "The hell?"

"Drink." The Hunter said. His voice sounded distorted behind the mask.

Lily uncapped hers. The sharp scent brought her back to reality. Alarms blared along the hallway. Which meant their captors were only seconds away.

She downed the vial of Queensfoil in a heartbeat, frowning at the taste.

Drifter stared at his.

"It's that or the cell." Lily said.

Something spun through the air, a flash of green. Drifter caught it, glanced at it, and slid it into his pocket.

"Bottoms up." He said slowly, dumping the tincture into his mouth.

The Hunter raised something, crushing it, and chanting ominously, under his breath. Darkness exploded outwards, washing over them, robbing her of her sight.


	6. Mice and Monsters

Wind howled over an open expanse of rock and snow as a small family of furry rodents scavenged for vegetation. Peromyscus Maniculatus, as the cryptarchs referred to them, had made the windswept peaks of the mountains outside the Last City their home. Between Fallen, circling hawks, and bored Hunters on patrol, death could come from any direction, at any time. The open expanse offered few hiding spots, and so the little critters had developed an almost uncanny ability to predict when they might be in danger, and vanish into the tiny cracks and crevices adorning otherwise impassible rock faces.

And so it was that, for no apparent reason, the small group of them suddenly scattered, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared.

A moment later reality tore open at the seams, a pulse of dark energy washing over the now empty ledge, and deposited three figures on it.

Drifter stared around the rocky expanse.

"The hell." He muttered, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He'd seen a lot of neat tricks over the years. This was new.

"Thnx for the ride, brother." He said. "Any chance you're looking for work?"

The hunter with the opulent armor laughed.

"I'll keep that in mind." He said. "But don't hold your breath. This was a favor for a friend. You see the Titan, you tell him we're even."

Drifter smiled.

"I'll keep that in mind." He said.

He grabbed the collar around his neck and twisted. The weakened clasp snapped, releasing the device.

The strange Hunter tilted his head to the side.

"Be right back." He said.

There was another flash of Darkness and he was gone.

Drifter bounced the mote in his hand.

"That was your plan wasn't it." The pretty little Warlock asked, pointing at the mote. Her collar was off as well, and in one piece.

"Maybe." He said. "Maybe I was just getting peckish."

Her face went greener that his jade coin. Guardians... She'd probably never gone hungry a day in her life. Never starved to death and come back hungry. Spoiled rotten just like the rest.

He opened his mouth to say something and another pulse swept through him.

This time he recognized a few of the figures that stepped through.

"Of you!" The red and black clad Exo snapped, clearly transported mid sentence.

Drake-5. A Gambit regular. And buzzing around him...

"Well well well." He said. "Look who decided to show up."

His Ghost rolled its eye.

"Hermes!" The Warlock shouted, her Ghost buzzing over to her.

Drifter felt something shift inside him.

He pushed away his own Ghost, who was scanning him repeatedly.

"I'm fine." He said, his anger fading. "I'm fine."

Drake was arguing with the unknown Hunter.

"...first prison break, gotta make it count." He was saying. "That means staring down guns and monologuing. Split second escapes and whatnot."

"And taking slugs from six Praxic shotguns?" The other Hunter asked.

"I had it under control," Drake insisted. "You've seen me in the crucible."

"Either way my part's done." The other Hunter said. "Transmat should get you to the Derelict."

Drifter shook his head.

"Order'll be watching the Derelict." He said. "Might want to lay low for a bit."

"They won't make it past the hangar." Drake said. "I made a new friend, he's keeping the place clear."

That was all he needed to know. He hit a button on his wrist. Transmat fired. Four Guardians disappeared.

He felt a burst of Darkness.

Three Guardians landed on the Derelict.

Six ghosts ringed a familiar hunter twirling an annoyingly familiar hand cannon.

Heeph had a talent for blending into crowds. Made him the go to choice for recon inside the City or the Crucible. Of corse that was before he'd shown up wearing THAT gun.

How he'd managed to convince the Man with the Golden Gun to relinquish his favorite piece, Drifter had no idea. But Heeph had. And it had never left his side since.

A Praxic Warlock sprang up behind him, reaching for his shotgun. Heeph was faster, spinning and fan firing three rounds into the Warlock's skull.

"I can do this all day." He said, dumping the cylinder onto the ground and slotting in a new one. "My Ghost has three crates full of ammo ready for transmat."

He spun the weapon.

"You'll run out of patience, or light, long before I run out of ammo." He said.

Two Praxic Warlocks rose up this time, their ghosts holding their light to coordinate the assault. Heeph gunned one down, then dodged around the next leaving a throwing knife in the back of their head that exploded in a burst of flame.

Drifter's Ghost had a replacement cannon in his hands in an instant.

He pointed it at the ceiling and fired. The noise reverberated. All seven turned to stare at him.

He leveled his pistol at the closest ghost.

"Take your guardians and get the hell off my ship." He said. "Or I'll be selling some shells to Spider."

They did what he said. All except one. It stared back. Unyielding.

Drifter pulled the hammer back.

"Last warning." He said.

It vanished just as he pulled the trigger.

—

"The attack was perpetrated by Shadows, operating out of the Tangled Shore." Drake said.

The group was gathered around the a suspiciously clean table in a room filled with junk.

"They are using Hive bones harvested..."

"Chitin." Lily said before she could stop herself.

Drake stared at her.

"It's actually chitin." She said. "Not bone. A lot of people... uh... forget... that..."

She let her voice trail off.

"As I was saying saying." Drake said, his hand settling on the handle of the handcanon at his side, his eyes never leaving hers. "They are harvesting Hive _Bones_ from the thralls over in the Jetsam of Saturn."

He turned to the Drifter.

"Their initial intent appeared to be your assassination." He said. "However several more devices have been detonated, successfully, at unrelated locations. However that is not the worst part."

He swept his gaze across the room.

"The Shadows have been abducting children from outlying colonies and using them to create the Devourer Bullets." He said.

Lily stared.

"What do you mean using them?" She asked, her fists clenching and unclenching.

"The Shadows are hardly the sort to run a daycare." Drake replied. "I would imagine the Shadows have not gone to great lengths to ensure their comfort. Especially since the crafting of Weapons of Sorrow requires pain and suffering."

The rest of his words were lost in the haze that fell over her.

Children. The Shadows had kidnapped and enslaved children.

By the Light she would make them pay.

But first she needed a weapon.

The meeting wound down and the Guardians began to disperse to prepare. She stepped in front of the Drifter.

"The Titan mentioned a gun that could snuff out light." She said. "Malfeasance. I need one."

He stared at her for a moment then burst out laughing.

"Ha! You think I hand those out to just anyone?" He asked. "Lady you must be crazy."

Lily stared back.

"We are going up against Shadows." She said. "If any of them still have their ghost they can resurrect as many times as they want. And since their weapons drain light, that kinda puts us at a disadvantage doesn't it."

Drifter raised an eyebrow.

"So we need a way to keep them down." She said. "I don't have that. Which means any I kill can just get back up."

She kept her eyes on his.

"Order confiscated my vault, which means no fusion rifle and no launcher." She said. "And small arms fire won't work on a shielded Ghost. So I need an alternative."

Drifter shook his head.

"You got guts, lady." He said. "But what I said stands. You want a Malfeasance, you gotta earn it."

"How?" She asked warily. Considering who he was there were a dozen things he could ask for. Almost none were worth that gun.

"Every once in a while in Gambit I drop a special Primeval in on the fun." Drifter said. "I call it a Chimera. The regulars call it a meatball. You bring me it's heart, then we can talk."

She relaxed slightly.

"That would take time." She said. "You got anything else?"

Drifter scratched his beard, then he smiled, a feral toothy grin.

"As a matter of fact, I do." He said. "Follow me."

**Author's Note:**

**Yeah, I wrote you a note. Looks like my little Gambit paid off. All you little guardians hooked on my every word. Ha! I love it.**

**That said there's something you should know. This ain't the only story your pal's been writing. Got another one you might like. Emphasis on might. It's called Chronicle. It's even got Volumes... or will if it gets far enough.**

**Course that means my attentions a bit divided. So y'all gotta have a bit of patience. Live for the long con. It'll be worth it. Trust.**


	7. Harsh Words

A round whizzed past Tyr's ear, shattering against the cavern wall. He'd been a fool. A monumental, colossal fool. The ammunition used, the target chosen, the method of delivery. He should have pieced it together sooner.

He and Vatra had descended into the tunnels expecting to face Scorn. Instead they had come face to face with no less than half a dozen Shadows. The ambush had quickly gone south. The only reason he was still on his feet was the curious fact that the Shadows were still armed with the poorly crafted Devourer Bullets, instead of the real deal.

"Anti-transmat zone ends just up ahead." Charon said. "If we can reach it..."

Tyr poured on steam, legs pumping. Thank the Traveler he'd sent the Warlock home. She would have died quickly or fallen behind. He doubted cardio was part of her daily exercises, being a desk jockey and all.

Another volley of shots, and he leapt up, the rounds passing beneath him. He hit the ground, transitioning into a forward slide, legs outstretched. The next volley passed over him. He rounded the was a burst of static. The weight on his back faded and then reappeared. He spun, sweeping the heavy weapon off his back, throwing up a waist high barricade of light as he dropped to one knee.

The weapon had been a gift from the Drifter. 21% Delirium, he called it. A light machine gun with a ridiculously large clip. The gun could, under the right circumstances, hold his entire reserve supply of ammunition. The first Shadow around the corner died before he could react. The rest tried to charge him. Their rounds hit the barricade and lodged there. He had cover, they did not. They fell, full of holes.

The remaining three took turns popping out of cover, forcing him to duck behind the barricade.

"Vatra." He shouted. "I could use a hand here."

A burst of what, he assumed, was profanity was the only response for a few heart stopping seconds. Then a mess of metal roared down the tunnel past him, something tumbling from it. The sparrow, strapped with what looked like fuel tanks, screamed towards the Shadows, who opened fire en mass. Sparrows had notoriously poor armor, and it only took a few shots to breach their engines and turn them into a one way ticket to the next life.

Too late one of them noticed the fuel tanks strapped to the vehicle.

"Hold...!" He yelled.

He never got the chance to finish. Vatra and Tyr where already running. The tunnel behind them lit bright as day. Something struck them from behind, carrying them out of the tunnel and dumping them into an indent in the ground in a larger cavern.

Tyr groaned. Everything hurt. He gritted his teeth, pushing past the pain to lift himself to one knee. The tunnel was in flames. He swept his gaze across the room. No hostiles.

Charon phases into existence behind him, playing a healing beam over his injuries.

"You okay," Vatra?" Tyr asked.

The Hunter groaned and rolled over into his back, holding up a single hand, thumb up. Something shifted in the tunnels. Charon vanished in a heartbeat. Tyr grabbed the rifle off his back, aiming down the sights. A Shadow staggered out of the flames, cloak and armor smoking. Arm trembling it raised the spiked hand cannon it held.

Before Tyr could fire a line of blue arc energy tore through the Shadow's head and he fell.

Tyr spun.

A Fallen stood, secondary arms clenched around its midsection, leaking ether into the ground. It's primary limbs held a wire rifle.

It seemed to waver, before collapsing. The Shadow's ghost appeared, and both it and his corpse vanished in a flash of light.

Tyr was by the Fallen's side in an instant, Charon running a scan over them.

"She's badly wounded." He said. "Took two rounds to the chest. Glancing blows, but enough to slice through the exo skeleton. She's bleeding out."

"She?" Tyr asked. All Fallen looked the same to him.

"Biometrics and internal organs indicate female." Charon said. "Hold up. I can fix this."

He floated over. The Fallen's arm snapped out, snatching him out of the air. Tyr roared in rage. Wounded or not, no one touched his Ghost.

"Stop!" Charon cried. "Tyr, stop!"

The Fallen's windpipe was in his hand.

Charon spun his prisms, breaking the already weakened Fallen's hold and said something in their guttural language.

Tyr released the Fallen, who fell back with a gasp, choking out a response.

Charon floated towards her again, a beam landing from him to strike her abdomen. She screamed as the acrid stench of burning flesh struck Tyr's nostrils. The wound and the rent edges of her armor glowed.

"Here." Charon said. A transmat beam shimmered and a canister of ether appeared. The Fallen took it. It's voice raised as it coughed out a response. Charon replied with a series of clicks.

"Since when did you speak Fallen?" Tyr asked.

"After our first meeting with Spider I started studying it." His Ghost replied. "Figured it would come in handy if he tried to have you killed behind your back."

Tyr stares at him in silence.

"You know." He said finally. "I really don't give you enough credit."

"No." Charon said. "You don't."

He spun his shell.

"But you are getting better at it."

The Fallen rasped something.

"What did she say?" Tyr asked.

"She said she's pretty sure we aren't Shadows." He said. "She also offered to tell us where they came from if we get her back to Spider."

Tyr modded.

"Alright." He said.

He reached down and swept the Fallen up into his arms. She was much lighter than expected. A shock blade tickled his chin.

"She wants to walk." Charon clarifies. "You don't want to know what she threatened."

Tyr stared down into her four eyes.

"Stab me and I drop you." He said. "Then someone will have to carry you, unless you feel like crawling."

Charon translated.

The Fallen spat something, shoving the blade back into its sheath.

"Only to her ship." Charon translated. "Then she'll crawl, if she has to."

Tyr rolled his eyes.

"You scavengers and your pride." He muttered, lifting her.

She muttered something back.

"I'm not going to translate that." Charon said.

—

"Wait." Hermès said.

Lily slowed.

"Did you forget something in the armory?" She asked.

"No." Hermès said. "At least i don't think... could you stop walking for a second."

Lily stopped mid stride. He hoped she'd listen.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

Hermès spun his shell.

"All of this is wrong." He said. "Have you stopped to think about what we are doing?"

"Hunting Shadows." Lily said.

"Consorting with cutthroats and con-men to hunt profession killers." Hermès said.

"I'd hardly call this consorting." Lily retorted. "It's more like..."

"Call it what you will." Hermès said. "It's still a bad idea. We could die. Permanently die. Have you considered that?"

"We can handle it." She said.

"No, we can't." Hermès said. "You're a desk jockey, not a fighter. Your crucible record is proof enough of that."

Hermès fell silent. He'd gone too far.

"I:.." He started

"If all you ghosts are this discouraging," Lily snapped. "Then I'm starting to see why the Drifter never talks to his."

Hermès' seemed to shrink

"I'm just trying to..."

"To what?" Lily snarled. "Help? How is telling me I'm not good enough helping?"

Hermès was silent.

"I know I might die." She said. "Both of us might. But we don't really have any other options right now. We are fugitives. So if we need to do a bit of associating with criminals then so be it."

She stared into his eye.

"If that's a problem for you maybe you should find another Guardian." She said. "Once I'm dead you'll be able to pick whoever you want."

She spun on her heel.

"I'm going to go practice." She spat. "You can do whatever you'd like in the meantime."

He watched her go. Their connection broke, like a door slammed shut in his face.

What had he done?

—

"Who does he think he is?" Lily demanded.

"Your Ghost?" Drake volunteered. Light, this woman was annoying.

Lily glared at him.

"You're not helping." She said.

Drake shrugged, slotting another magazine into the bloodstained auto rifle he held.

"Not trying to help." He said. "I'm trying to practice. But someone had to come in and start crying about her personal problems.

Lily opened her mouth to reply and Drake fired a quick burst. She waited for it to end only for him to do it again each time she opened her mouth.

She glared.

"Glare all you want." Drake said. "If looks could kill you'd have been dead the moment you started whining."

He slammed another magazine home.

"I just..." She started.

Drake sighed heavily, aiming his rifle up and slamming the butt of the rifle into the table, leaning on it.

"You want my opinion." He said.

"Not really..." Lily started.

"Hermès is doing exactly what a ghost should do." He said. "Call their Guardian out when we make, or are about to make, a stupid decision."

Lily stared at him.

"You know what I think?" He asked. "I think the Traveler made Ghosts because it knew that if you gave a human immortality and the powers of an infant godling, they'd die in droves to their own stupidity."

He stared at her.

"Maybe your Ghost could have been kinder about how he said it." He said. "But if you think a measly .25 K/D, in the Crucible of all places, is a sign you are ready for what we are heading into, then your Ghost has a lot more restraint than any I know."

He stood up straight, aiming the rifle down the range and sighting in.

"My advice, stop wasting your time sending dummy rounds at paper cutouts and go make things right with the one who can bring you back from the dead and/or advise you on how to avoid ending up like that in the first place. Because, trust me, you're gonna need him a lot more than you need that."

He nodded at the sidearm in her hands.

"Or stay here and try your best to go out in a blaze of glory." He said. "But if you keep yapping I'm going to started firing at something a bit more solid."

She stared at him, her eyes wide, then turned and half walked, half fled towards the hallway.

Samuel phased into existence over his shoulder. The pieces of his shell, taken from various designs, spun.

"She one stupid mother..."

A burst of bullets drowned out his words.

Drake paused to survery the target.

"She'll learn." He said.

"Assuming she survives." Samuel muttered.

"Either way it won't be our problem." Drake said. "We got enough to worry about."

He slotted in another magazine.


	8. Friends and Fiends

Dredgen Noir ran his fingers through his hair.

Below him children labored at dingy tables, under flickering lamps, hands shaking as they carved Hive Bones into jagged spikes. Splotches of red dotted the surfaces, reminders of their lack of skill.

One child stopped, head pitching forward, exhaustion taking its toll. A sharp crack had him bottling upright, before his eyes even opened, his body reacted to the all too familiar sound of the whip the overseer held in his hands. The child scrambled for his tools, attacking the bone with renewed energy. The overseer chuckled softly, fingers trailing over the whip lovingly as he coiled it around his arm.

Killing Guardians was one thing. All those who blindly followed the Light deserved their fate. But this... this was wrong.

"Noir!"

He started, then peered down. The overseer stared up at him.

"You mind taking over?" He said. "Been watching these brats so long my feet are getting tired. Could use a hot bath, and a good meal."

Several of the children looked up at that. How could they not, fed in scraps and 'washed' with buckets of whatever water they could ration?

"Sure." Noir said, gliding down from the rafters. "Take as long as you'd like, I'll keep the little rats in line."

He took the whip, hanging it from his belt.

The Overseer, Dredgen Mal, chuckled.

"Don't be afraid to get a little rough." He said. "We got a new shipment coming in any day now."

Noir felt his gut twist. He tried to keep it out of his voice.

"Good." He said. "Some new blood should get the old flowing."

"Woah there." Mal said. "No 'downsizing' unless the boss says so."

He clapped Noir on the back.

"Thanks for this." He said. "I'll save you a plate."

Noir waited till he had shut the door behind him, then he took a deep shaky breath.

He felt the children staring.

"Back to work." He snarled. "Or you'll taste the lash."

He stalked back and forth between the tables, casting a critical gaze over the slowly progressing work. On two occasions he stopped and threw down a rift of healing energy, revitalizing a table that had fallen behind.

It was a practical decision, nothing more. Injured workers were not as effective, and they needed every round they could get.

At least that's what he told himself.

—

"You're an idiot." Heeph said.

His ghost swiveled, fixing him with a beady stare.

"Excuse me." She said. "This conversation's guest list is very exclusive and most certainly does not include you or your opinions."

Heeph shrugged, and Emerald, his Ghost, turned back to Hermès.

"He's right though, you're being stupid." She said. "Guardians die, a lot. It's kinda their thing. Your job is to make sure they avoid the ones they can and learn from the ones they can't."

"That is what I'm trying to do." Hermes insisted. "But she..."

"No," Emerald said. "You are trying to shield her from the world. Which is the worst thing you can do to a Guardian. Am I right?"

She addressed the last part to Heeph who shook his head.

"As you pointed out I am not part of that conversation and thus have no opinion to offer regarding the contents of such."

Emerald rolled her eye.

"Most Guardians, if given the chance, learn from their mistakes." She said. "Now history is full of people who bit off more than they could chew and Guardians are no exception. But it is also full of people who chewed their way through mountains."

"That's a terrible metaphor." Heeph said.

Emerald glared at him.

"My point is cut her some slack, and maybe she'll surprise you." Emerald said. "She has proven remarkably innovative so far."

She stared past him.

"And surprisingly sneaky." She said.

Hermès spun, and there his Guardian was.

"We need to talk." She said quietly.

"And that's our cue to leave." Emerald said. "Come along Heeph."

"I am actually pretty comfortable here." Heeph said. "And, you know, we were here firs... wait... noooooo..."

He and Emerald vanished in a flash of light that faded, leaving the two alone in the now silent room.

Hermès stared at Lily, who stared back.

"I'm sorry." They both said at the same moment.

Silence fell once again.

"I..." Both said.

Hermès tilted his shell.

"You go first." He said.

Lily took a breath.

"I know I've been a bit reckless lately." She said. "But that's just because I've spent most of my second life cooped up in the tower playing it safe."

She rubbed the back of her neck.

"I know I've put us both in mortal danger, and I probably should have asked your opinion before dragging you into this mess, but I... I just wanted to do something exciting for once." She said. "Something that mattered."

She looked up.

"I'm sorry for what I said." She said. "I..."

She took a break.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you." She said. "It was wrong of me and I apologize."

Hermès spun his shell.

"We were both wrong." He said. "I shouldn't have pushed you to take up that desk job. If I'd encouraged you to go out in the field more maybe we wouldn't be as unprepared as we are for this."

He shook his shell side to side.

"I've let my fear of losing you hold us back for too long." He said. "From now on, whatever you decide to do, I'll help you see it through. Unless of course you decide to get into a boxing max with an Abyssal Champion. That's just stupid."

"Ehh," A voice said. "They ain't so tough. Trick is knowing where to punch."

Lily spun.

Tyr stood in the doorway, his armor dented and cracked, a pauldron missing. She blinked. When had they exited jumpspace?

"You warn the City?" He asked.

"Best I could." Lily said. "Don't know if they'll listen. Aunor wasn't to happy with me risking life and limb to bring back news."

"That's a Praxic for you." Tyr said. He stared past her at Hermes. "Heard you two had a bit of a falling out."

Lily glanced at Hermes.

"You could say that." She said. "We..."

Hermès shot her a glance.

"We're working on it." She said. "But we're ready."

"Good." The Titan said. "Because this is a lot bigger than we thought, and we're gonna need everyone at their best."

—

A hooded figure stared at the four Shadows before him, each one flanked by a massive Hive Knight, blades held at the ready.

"Two Guardians." He said softly, stroking the barrel of his weapon. "Two unaware Guardians blundering into a trap so carefully laid, and yet it is two Shadows who no longer walk the world of the living."

He tilted his head.

"Would anyone like to venture a guess as to why?" He asked quietly.

"Our rounds were defective." One said. "Poorly made. We..."

The hooded man turned his full attention to him.

"Were they armed with Devourer Bullets?" He asked.

The Shadow looked to those beside him for help, they turned away.

"No." He said slowly. "But..."

"A wise man once said 'It is a poor craftsman who blames his tools for his failure.'"He said.

The Knight behind him raised the blade.

He held up a hand as the Shadow began to whimper softly. The blade halted.

"Fortunately for you I do not share such sentiment." He said. "A defective tool should not be cast aside, not when it can be... remade..."

The whimpers stopped. The Shadow slowly, raised his head.

"The Books of Sorrow are quite clear on what must be done." The hidden figure said. "You must be remade, but in order for that to happen you must be... unmade."

He gestured to the Knights.

"Bring him to the Spawning Pit." He said.

The other three seemed to relax slightly.

He turned, as if noticing them for the first time.

"Bring all of them to the Spawning Pits." He said.

He smiled, closing his eyes as the screams began, relishing the sound of scrabbling hands as the Knights dragged the Shadows away. The screams lingered in the air like the sweetest of incense.

A pity he would have to miss the flaying process. Watching the Wizards peel the light from its host, layer by layer, always stirred something in him. Perhaps it was his inner sadist, or perhaps it was just the remnants of his humanity crying out in horror.

Still, as enjoyable as it was, there was work to do, and precious little time in which to do it. He ran his fingers over the weapon one last time, feeling the coarse draped cloth, the smooth polished blade, watching the spherical cage spun and shift around a core of undulating darkness.

It was all coming together nicely.

—

Five Guardians and a Lightbearer stood around a map.

"Spider's operative said she's seen suspiciously dressed Guardians going in and out of the crashed Tomb Ship in the Jetsam of Saturn." Tyr said. "Normally I wouldn't take the word of Fallen but... the last operative that lied to Spider ended up boiled alive, so..."

Drifter licked his lips. There was a guttural laugh over the comms.

"Ahh Kiriks." Spider chuckled. "Good times, good times."

"Tomb ship would be big enough to hide a bunch of kids, and a not inisginificant number of Shadows." Drake said. "Problem is food and water."

"Water can be recycled." Lily said. "All you'd need is a filtration system and distillery. You could even hook it up to a hydroponics bay to provide food."

"Hydroponics bay would take time." Drifter said. "There's an easier alternative."

Everyone turned to look at him.

"Hive and Fallen aren't all that different." He said. "Hierarchy based on strength, enforcing by rationing of resources. And one key similarity that everyone seems to forget."

He smiled, teeth gleaming in the low light.

"They're both crunchy on the outside." He said. "But the insides are nice and juicy."

Lily gagged and doubled over, her stomach heaving, hands clasped over her mouth.

Spider was silent.

"Disturbing culinary facts aside." Heeph said. "Kids need nutrients in order to survive. Guardians may be able to get by on a diet of whatever the catches our eye, but kids need more."

"It's a labor camp, not a summer getaway." Drake-5 said. "They don't need them healthy, just alive... perhaps not even for long."

"That does open up another problem." Tyr said. "Bodies. You'd need a way to dispose of them."

"Thrall." Lily said, wiping her mouth and trying not to stare at the steaming puddle by her feet. "Feed them to the Thrall."

Everyone turned to stare at her, including Hermès, who wore an expression of utter horror.

"I'm not saying it's what I'd do." Lily said. "But Hive are known to be scavengers. If you were trying to farm them for bones..."

"You'd need to keep a few alive until you were ready to harvest them." Drifter said. "Smart."

"Disturbing dietary trends aside." Spider rumbled. "How are they transporting their... unwilling workers?"

"Hive ships." Heeph said.

Tyr chuckled.

"I'm serious." Heeph said. "Just because no one has done it before doesn't mean it's not possible."

"I know." Tyr said. "I just find the image amusing."

"Can we please focus?" Drake requested. "Assuming all this is true, we still need a plan. Go in guns blazing and they might use the kids as hostages."

"Lot of tunnels leading in and out of that ship." Tyr said. "If we could pinpoint where they are keeping the kids..."

"What if they didn't have the kids?" Lily asked suddenly. "What would you do then?"

A low chuckle from Vatra was the only reply.

"So why not do that?" Lily asked.

Heads slowly rotated to stare at her.

"You're joking right?" Tyr asked.

Lily smiled.


	9. Thrall

Ir Amath watched the Shadows slaughter her brood with causal detachment. She could feel their confusion. They were meant to rend and tear, to kill and grow, and instead they were being slaughtered en mass while their progenitor watched. Fed on the corpses of malnourished human younglings and denied the chance to kill and grow from death, they were sickly and thin, easy prey for Shadows. The ground was littered with thrashing corpses, twitching Thrall with jagged spikes embedded in their skulls.

Finally she held up a hand.

"Enough." She said.

The Shadows below did not comply immediately. The barrage of shots slowed to a trickle, and then, finally, silence fell.

The surviving Thrall stared at her. She gestured with one clawed hand and a door slid open, air rushing in, carrying the scent of the Shire, and the faintest hint of ether.

"Go." She said. "Kill, grow, live."

They were too simple to understand the full meaning of her words, but the love and will behind her words drove them into a frenzy. They poured out of the pens, down the tunnel, swarming towards the distant light. The Shadows below her set to work, cutting apart the corpses and harvesting the bones.

Once the sight had stirred something inside her. The fear of being next perhaps? But time had proven that concern false. She had worked hard to make herself useful to their new master, and as long as she "played her cards" right, to use the human expression, she would continue to be too useful to remove.

She watched two of the Shadows chat while they worked.

"All I'm saying is if they guy choose the name Noir, maybe challenging him to a game of poker wasn't the best idea."

"Going by that logic, the advice you should be giving is on farming."

"Hey I'm just trying to help you avoid getting cleaned out every night."

"Why though, I mean it's not like we're going to need glimmer for anything. When we take the City, do you really think we're gonna have to pay for stuff."

"What's the first thing you're gonna do when we're in charge?"

"Buzz the tower."

"No..."

"I've always wanted to see just how close I could..."

Silence fell over all of them.

She could His presence. His cold dominating will flowed outwards like a fog, smothering both dissent and mirth.

The Shadows looked up, towards the ledge now occupied by a hooded figure. Towards Him. He paid them no heed. It was her He motioned for, turning and vanishing back into the shadows.

Ir Amath followed, floating above the Shadows.

"The quality of the bones has not improved." He said.

"Nor has the quality of the meals on which the Thrall feed". She replied.

Her importance afforded her the ability to speak her mind, but she still had to exercise some caution.

"You believe they would be stronger if the food was still... fresh?"

She considered her words carefully.

"It is worth exploring." She said. "And very simple to test. Take a brood of Thrall with you on your next raid. Let them kill for you, let them feast on those too old to labor in the armory. And when they return, you will see that their bones are strong and potent."

He was silent, fingers stroking the rifle in his hands. She could almost hear whispers. Hear the voice of...

"Yes... perhaps it is time." He said. "I will consider your proposal."

He tilted his ear. The whispers became louder, almost desperate.

"In the meantime I have a confession to make". He said, fingers stroking his weapon, tracing the blade that protruded from beneath the hanging cloth. "I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you about our purpose here."

Then he told her a secret. A dark and terrible secret.

The last thing she felt, before the whispers became screams, was despair so consuming, that she could do nothing but wail in anguish.

—

Vatra pulled the trigger. Normally the action would have put a smile on his face.

He scoffed.

Leave it to the Warlock to take all the fun out of a good old fashioned bombing run.

"Remember." She has said, pointing to several spots. "Here, here, and here, nowhere else."

He watched the missile streak towards the tomb ship, followed swiftly by two more.

The sooner they got this done, the sooner he could go back to patrolling the shore. Maybe Kaniks would pop up again. He'd always proven an amusing adversary.

The missiles impacted with heavy thud.

"They're active." Tau said. "On your signal."

Vatra sighed and flipped a switch.

The Tomb Ship lit up like a Christmas tree.

—

The children screamed, scrambling away from the wall as it exploded outwards.

Noir was already moving, diving for a young girl who had tripped over a chair. Or swept her up, wrapping his arms around her, placing himself between the warhead and the child.

Nothing happened. No seering pain, no sudden flash of light.

Nothing but hiss of the door opening, followed by the low menacing chuckle of Dredgen Mal.

"You know, the others said you were going soft." He said, footsteps echoing across the floor. "I stood up for you. Said you were as stone cold as the rest of us."

The children parted around him, cowering behind each other and behind tables upturned in the scramble.

Noir closed his eyes. Stupid, stupid...

Something pressed against the back of his head.

"I don't appreciate being made a liar, boy." Mal said. "You and I were friends, but if you'd rather side with a group of dirty rats..."

Noir was already turning when the arm suddenly jerked, the gun firing a round into the floor beside him. He swept his hand out, snagging a jagged spike and threw his weight behind the strike.

Mal jerked, eyes wide. His fingers reached for the spike, gun and knife forgotten. Noir tore it free, watching red stain the front of Mal's chest plate.

His fellow Shadow clutched at the hole in his neck, trying to stem the flow. He fell forward, into his knees, choking. His face hit the floor with a sickening crunch, his body twitching.

Noir stared, the spike falling from limp fingers.

What. Had. He. Done.

"It's okay." A little voice said. "You can fix this. No one has to know. Just tell a lie. You've done that before."

He had.

"He was ambushed by the children. Thrall will reward you for bringing him their heads. Three should do it." The little voice said.

Noir stared at the children around him, hand on the handle of his Thorn. They stared back, a mixture of emotion on their faces, hope, confusion... awe.

"Do it." The little voice hissed.

Noir hesitated as, for the first time in a long time, another voice sounded.

"Save them."

—

"Well?" Drake asked. He was pacing back and forth.

"I'm working on it." Lily said.

"If you need some help." Tyr said.

"I got this." She said. "Just need to... there!"

The Tomb Ship lit up.

"Well well well." Drifter said. "This'll come in handy down the road."

"Compact multi-spectrum scanners." Lily said. "City used em to search for survivors in collapsed buildings after the Red War. I tweaked the algorithm to check bio-energetic signatures and a few other parameters. Blue is the kids, red are the Shadows, and green are the Hive."

She flipped a switch.

"And we also have a somewhat detailed map of the interior." She said. "Not bad for a desk jockey huh?"

Drifter nodded approvingly.

"Alright." Drake said. "We have our targets. Closest tunnels are marked. Keep us updated while we move."

Lily froze.

"Wait wait wait." She said. "You're sticking me in comms."

"Just until the kids are out." Drake said. "Then I want to see you out there with us."

He swung his leg over his sparrow, gunning the engine.

The other three roared after him, vanishing giver the ledge of the Derelict's hangar and onto the rocky surface of the Shore.

—

"Come on come on come on." Noir snarled, flexing his hand.

The children grunted, their little arms struggling to lift the table.

He grabbed it from them, flipping it and wedging it against the growing pile of debris before the door.

"How are those rounds coming?" He called.

The few children still seated, huddled behind an upturned table, held up a small crate full of canisters.

"Alright". He said. "One more box, then I swear, you'll never have to make another bullet again."

This prompted cheers from them, which he quickly hushed. He turned and surveyed the room. The warhead lodged in the wall was a dud, and he had contemplated salvaging the charge to bobby-trap the door. But he was no explosives expert, and the risk of blowing himself, and the children up was too great.

His Ghost hovered behind him, staring unceasingly at his back. Finally he could take it no longer.

"What?" He demanded, turning on it.

"Why are you helping them?" It asked.

"Does it matter." He snapped back. "You finally got your wish, I get to die a hero. Does the why really matter?"

It stared at him for another second. Then he felt it merge with him. Disappointment radiated from it.

"No." It said. "I suppose not."

—

Dredgen Thrall shifted, feeling the beams pinning him shift as well.

Ir Amath lay across the hallway, buried another another set of beams, her neck twisted at an odd angle.

The last thing he remembered was her throat in his hands as the wall turned to atoms.

He started to lift the beam and froze. A smile slithered onto his lips. Someone was coming, heavy footfalls racing towards him. He closed his eyes, reaching out. Oh yes, he knew this essence.

He let the beam fall back.

Oh this would work perfectly.

—

Zekran, Breaker of Faith, rounded the corner, cleaver in hand.

The hallway was in ruins. Ir Amath, she who had birthed him, lay buried under one pile her neck clearly broken. And under the other...

He rushed over, pulling the beams aside.

The hooded Shadow climbed to his feet.

"Thank you my son..." he said. "I... no..."

He rushed over, and knelt by the dead Wizard. He touched her neck, perhaps some strange form of human ritual, then bowed his head.

Zekran felt sorrow and rage bubble up inside him.

"She was so devoted to our cause." He said. "She forsook everything, even the creation of her own Throne World, to ensure our victory. Such sacrifice will not be forgotten."

Zekran knelt, cleaver planted in the floor.

"Send out the fighters." The Shadow said. "Call forth your knights. We will drag the ones responsible from the skies and butcher them in her name."

Zekran smiled, needle sharp teeth bared.

"As you command," He rumbled, "My King."


	10. Lines

Two figures crept through the tunnels beneath the shore, Auto Rifles sweeping over every rock and patch of moss.

They had been reborn in time where survival depending on coordination and fast reflexes, and time had not dulled those skills.

Tyr took point, his movements surprisingly quiet for someone in heavy plated armor. Drake was behind him, as swift and immaterial as a living shadow. It was a formation they had practiced many times before. At the first sign of trouble the Titan would drop a barricade made entirely of light and lay down suppressive fire, while the Hunter slipped into the shadows to flank their foes.

Both were armed to the teeth, their weapons heavily customized and upgraded with one goal, to kill anything that crossed their paths.

Drake's Red Death glinted in the soft glow of the luminescent rocks. A relic of his pre Red War arsenal it had not left his side since the fall of the Tower. Drake kept the ammunition secret, but whatever he used was capable of punching through a Ghost's shield with ease.

Tyr's weapon was bit more common. Breakneck, a remnant of Drifter's Dark Age arsenal. Tyr had not only upgraded it with shield piercing rounds, but he had also poured his own Light into the weapon, turning it into an extremely potent instrument of death.

Behind them, strolling casually along, came Heeph and Drifter, their right hands resting on the handles of their Hand Cannons. Heeph's left hand sat on his belt, hooked through a loop. Drifter, on the other hand, was bouncing a condensed Mote of Darkness in his left hand, the soft glow casting strangely shifting shadows on the wall.

Drake held up a hand. A sound echoed down the chamber, the scrape and scrabble of claws on stone.

"Thrall." He whispered.

"Engage or let them pass?" Tyr asked.

"Engage, melee only." Drake responded. "You draw their attention, I'll box them in."

Tyr holstered his rifle, crackling his knuckles. The sound of claws grew louder, more excited.

They rounded the corner moments later, a tidal wave of claws and teeth, scrambling over each other, each intent on claiming the first kill.

They did not pause. Why would they? Their target was right in front of them, an unarmed Guardian filled with light, unafraid, unmoving.

The same things that would have clued any intelligent being into the trap only served to hasten their stumble into it.

Tyr waited until the first claw began to descend, a wide leaping lunge placing one Thrall ahead of the rest. Then he struck, his fist turning the Thrall into dust and atoms.

He waded forward, breaking the tide of bodies with fist, and elbow and knee. He was a Striker, and his very body was a weapon.

If any Thrall had survived to tell of that encounter, and possessed the intelligence to do so, they would have spoken of a living mountain, a boulder crushing everything in its path.

What would have gone unmentioned was the shadow dancing at the edges of the group, slipping in to decapitate and maim Thrall, before vanishing again.

Had any Thrall survived they would told no story of victory, only bitter defeat.

Had any survived.

—

Noir gestured to the furnace.

"Toss the rest of the bones in there." He said. "We will..."

Silence fell. A deep smothering silence that hung in the air like a shroud.

Noir turned slowly.

The door was barricaded so tightly that he could not see what lay beyond. But he could feel it. Feel Him.

"How quaint." The voice slithered through the minute gaps. "You truly believe you can save them."

"They have done nothing." Noir said. "It's me you want. Kill me, but let them go."

"I always liked you." Dredgen Thrall said, gently. "So full of light at the beginning. You would have cast a fine shadow."

Noir felt a chill run down his spine.

"And the children." Thrall said. "So naive, so innocent. Their deaths shall wash the bitterness of yours away nicely. I..."

A burst of gunfire cut him off. Noir felt his presence diminish.

A wave of light washed over them, followed quickly by two more. Someone had just killed three Ghosts.

"Are we going to die?" One of the children asked.

His voice lacked any sense of urgency, as if death was no more frightening than a walk in the park.

"No." Noir said, hearing conviction in his own for the first time. "Not while I draw breath."

"It won't make up for what you've done."

He turned. His ghost stared back.

"I'm not after redemption." Noir said. "But there are lines one does not cross."

His Ghost fell silent.

"I could use your help." Noir said. "If you are willing to give it."

His Ghost stared at him.

"Only until the children are safe." It said. "Then whatever fate befalls you is yours to face."

It disappeared and he felt it merge with him. It brought back memories. He shoved them down.

"First we need too..." He started.

Outside the door an Ogre roared.

Noir blinked.

Thrall had never mentioned breeding Ogres.

The Ogre's screams turned triumphant. Thrall was laughing, his voice mixing with another. Drifter?

The screams of dying Shadows punctuated the air, along with the death cries of Hive.

What in Yor's name was going on out there?

—

Tyr slid behind a pillar as a Wizard rained down bolts of darkness. The plan of sneaking into the ship to liberate the children, like all good plans, had not survived first contact with the enemy.

Everything had been going swimmingly, until they had emerged from the Tunnels to find a squad of Shadows harvesting bones not ten feet away.

Drifter had summoned a massive Prineval Ogre that had most of the Shadows pinned down, including a rather ominous figure with what appeared to be some sort of bladed scout rifle.

All that would have been fine and dandy if not for the waves of Hive that had poured out of the walls at the first sign of conflicts.

"Why are the Hive helping the Shadows?" Heeph inquired, standing and flinging his cloak back, drawing the Last Word and fan firing into a mob of Thrall with a flourish.

"Hive leadership is based on strength." Lily said over the comms. "In the absence of Oryx and his brood it is conceivable that some swarms may have lowered their standards. Especially for Guardians who have pledged themselves to the Darkness."

Tyr grabbed a grenade and threw it over his shoulder. He smiled grimly as he heard the Wizard scream, arc energy singing her hide.

Above him Drifter was trading potshots with the rifle wielding Shadow, both of them laughing uproariously as if having the time of their life.

"For a dirty rotten coward you seem to be enjoying yourself." Tyr said.

"Intimidation tactic." Drifter said. "Your enemy acts tough, laugh in his face. Show him he don't scare nobody."

He stood tall, a single finger raised, then dive behind a pillar as shots scorched the walls near him.

Drake was moving around to flank the shadows. He was behind them in seconds leaping into the air, Dusk Bow in hand.

The rifle wielding Shadow turned, throwing something. Drake drew the bow back and...

His light flickered and died, pitching him to the side. He hit the ground hard, tumbling over a lodge.

"Drake!" Tyr screamed. He whipped out his sniper, snapping off two quick shots. One struck the ground by the rifle wielding Shadow's feet. The other struck his shoulder, throwing him back.

"Quit your yelling." Drake said. "I'm alive. Bugger is using Devourer Bullets as throwing knives, keep your distance."

Something fell from the sky slamming into the Ogre's eye.

The triumphant roars became pained.

Drifter's laughter faded.

The Ogre hit the ground hard, body bleeding away into nothing. A Hive Knight stood amidst the remains, a cleaver in each hand. A low chant echoed from the retreating Hive. A name.

Zekran.

"Drake, pull your people back now!" Lily screamed. Tyr could hear genuine terror in her voice. "That's Zekran. Grandson of Crota, Breaker of Faith."

"Dangerous?" Drake asked.

"The Order sent eighteen Warlocks into the Lunar tunnels to kill him, only two came back." Lily said.

Tyr opened his mouth to reply and an unearthly howling filled the air.

Rifts tore open all around then, massive shadowy shapes stepping from tears in reality.

Nine Primevals formed a line between the crew and the Shadows.

"Yeah." Drifter said. "You ain't the only one with friends in dark places, pal."

The Primevals bellowed in unison and charged, their cleavers glinting hungrily.

Zekran did not flee, he did not cower. The Knight simply raised his blade and bellowed a war cry. Four circles of soul fire sprang up, a massive axe-wielding Knight appearing in each. They fell in behind their leader as he ran to meet the Drifter's Primevals.

The Shadows took advantage of the distraction to vanish into long corridors and side passages, sign with the Hive.

"Kids first." Drake said, as Heeph leapt onto a ledge. "Then we hunt."

Tyr nodded and together the three of them ran towards the barricaded door.

—

Dredgen Thrall watched the battle unfold.

Zekran had been the perfect bait. Strong, merciless, and utterly focused.

So why hadn't the Drifter Taken him. Doing so would have turned the tide. Summoning Primevals was a waste...

Unless it was all he could do.

Thrall stared across the room at the strange little man. If he could not Take, then the Great Secret was well and truly gone, having died with the King who first learned it.

The whispers became accusatory.

"Oh hush." He said. "There are many ways to mantle a god, oh weapon mine. Especially one like you."

He stroked the weapon reassuringly.

—

The barricade vanished in a flash. Noir turned, just in time to see the Titan bearing down on him, shoulder first.

Then he was nothing but dust and atoms.

And Light. He could sense Sigma holding him, holding his Light close. And through him he could hear and see.

"I'm going to give you one chance." The Titan said, leveling his weapon at the Ghost. "Leave his corpse here and go."

"You and I both know that's not an option, Tyr Hallan." His Ghost replied.

Tyr took a step back.

"Sigma?" He asked, incredulous.

"It's been a while." Sigma.

"So that Shadow was..."

"Pines, yes." Sigma said. "He's the one who barricaded the door, and killed that fellow over there."

Tyr turned, taking in the sight of Mal's corpse.

"Why?"

"Apparently he does not feel like letting these children come to harm." Sigma said.

"Bring him back." Tyr said. "I'd like a word."

Sings stared to reach only to stop as the Titan leveled a rifle at him.

"No weapons, no armor." He said. "Or so help me I will end you both here and now."

Sigma nodded and Noir felt himself being dragged back to the one of the living.

He landed on his hands and knees.

A shadow loomed over him.

"All these years." He coughed. "And you still hit like a dreg, Hallan."

He looked up. The Titan stared down.

"Pines." He said coldly. "Surprised to see you here."

Noir stared behind him, watching the Exo set up a beacon, while the other Hunter rebuilt the barricade.

"Are you?" He asked. "Given what I've lost serving the Light?"

He coughed.

"Heard you ain't been walking the straight and narrow either." He said. "Heh. You and I ain't so..."

The barrel of the rifle pressed against his head.

"We are nothing alike." Tyr said. "I have not forgotten where my loyalties lie."

Noir chuckled.

"Careful Hallan, your true colors are showing." He said. "What will the children think?"

"What they think is irrelevant as long as they survive." Tyr said. "You can help us with that, or I can send your Light back to the Traveler."

Something slammed into the barricade, a blade piercing the cluster of tables and chairs. Noir heard a Knight howl in Triumph. Whether Taken or Hive he could not tell.

"You have a plan?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Feel like sharing?"

"No."

Noir smiled.

"Fair enough." He said. "What do you need me to do?"

—

Drifter peeked over the ledge. His Primevals were not faring as well as he had hoped.

The Hive Knight, Zekran, had already dispatched two, and his Knights had taken out another pair. Of course they had lost one of their own in doing so, and another was looking ragged, but the odds were not what he would have liked.

He stared at the Mote. It had enough juice for two more. That might be enough, assuming he was smart about it.

He ducked back as a round screamed past his head.

The last Shadow had remained behind, waiting for a good shot. Drifter unslung his rifle. It had been a long time since he'd engaged in a good old fashioned rifle duel. He rolled past the opening in the ridge and waited.

Well, at the very least this would make a good story.


End file.
